Lost in Translation
by Webdog177
Summary: Alone in a new country, surrounded by a strange language and culture, Ruby Rose finds comfort in the familiarity of her roommate and fellow expatriate, Weiss Schnee. That would have been nice, if she were the least bit approachable! A more mature fanfic. [Modern AU / Whiterose]
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY, or in this case, its characters._

A/N: This is a plot that I have been toying around with for a number of years, wondering where it would best fit. As a story it could technically fit anywhere, in almost any fandom, with the right kind of plot and characters. Hell, it could even be its own romance fiction. But to make this story work the way I want it to, a certain pair of characters are needed to drive the plot forward. And after thinking about it, I decided that this would really work as a Whiterose fic (like there aren't already enough of those. Hah~)

Anyway, I wanted to get this short prologue/teaser out to get a taste for everyone's thoughts and opinions on it before I get too far and figure out that people just aren't interested in this kind of thing, or POV. Not everyone will be, and I understand that. *shrugs*

Please note: This will be rated for language, adult themes, and eventual sexual content. Adults (and by extension college-age students) get up to really weird things when living away from their home countries. It's like… Borg being removed from their hive mind and operating on their own.

Or something. Anyway.

Enjoy.

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 **Lost in Translation**

 **Prologue**

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It's always the most obvious things you notice at first.

In most cases it was sight; colors, shapes, and symbols that you aren't used to.

A giant red flag fluttering in the nearly non-existent breeze of the terminal when you are used to the red, white and blue of your own country's flag. Gold stars instead of white? That would take some getting used to, and you aren't quite sure you ever would.

Or the giant dragon statue in the middle of the lobby. That was weird. Dragons were cool and everything, but did they deserve a place in the middle of an airport?

Well, why the hell not?

And let's not even get started on the weird letters symbols printed everywhere. Thank God for small favors that English was printed on everything important.

Like the toilet. See? Important things.

Sounds were usually next. The people talking around you in foreign tongues, some more rapidly than others, and some slowly, deliberately, as if talking down to another. As you walk by different people you pick out different languages, some you can vaguely recognize as ones you grew up with the bare knowledge of; Spanish, German or French, even Japanese to an extent because you watched way too much Sailor Moon and Dragonball Z as a kid and you're kind of an anime junky, but the majority you have no idea about.

A loud beep echoes through the airport as the intercom clicks to life, blaring out some sort of announcement in whatever they were speaking, and then again in English – but it is so broken and halting you have no way of understanding it at all.

And then in a third language – probably just as understandable – just for good measure.

Smells are also a big hint you are somewhere you haven't been before. When you step into a new place and take a whiff of something and aren't quite sure if what you are smelling is food or not. It could be something delicious, or it could be something absolutely rank. You don't know. You have no way of knowing because you haven't been exposed to such things before.

In looking over and seeing the familiar sign for Kentucky Fried Chicken right next to another restaurant you have never seen before, its symbols glowing brightly in some unrecognizable letters, you feel your lips quirk up into a pleased smile with the knowledge that they at least have fried chicken in this country if all else goes to shit.

As you try to make your way from the customs check to the next gate, trying your best to ignore the fact that you are _actually in another fucking country for the first time without anybody else_ , your boarding pass clenched in your fingers like it was Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket, you thank your lucky stars that there were clear directions in English of where to go.

You did your research, of course, before even buying your plane tickets and therefore know your luck with English written on signs wouldn't last long once you get to the smaller, less-developed cities. But damn it, you were determined to enjoy the luxury while you have it.

As you board your next flight and settle in, you notice that there are significantly less Caucasians than on your transpacific flight, and from their slightly furtive stares towards you, it was obvious that they realized this too. You sink slightly into your seat, tucking your shoulder-length brown hair behind your ear and, in a conscious effort to hide your pale visage from any gawkers, you reach down to pull out a magazine from the pouch by your feet.

Unsurprisingly, not one bit of it is in English. You huff slightly, but instead try to occupy yourself with focusing on the pictures and attempt to piece together the articles from what little context you can derive from them.

The cabin buzzes with an announcement from the captain, again in a language you don't understand. The only different in this time from your previous flight was that there was no English interpretation after, forcing you to assume what they were talking about mirrored every other safety check and weather details for your destination city.

In this case, cold. Really, really cold. Or, what the internet said, at least.

Who the hell lived in negative forty degrees weather, anyway? You never knew before that Celsius and Fahrenheit met at negative forty until you researched this city. Could anyone live in that kind of place? And who would be crazy enough to go there, let alone agree to reside there for half a year?

You, apparently.

The trip was much shorter – only three hours compared to the previous one's twelve – and by the time you land and disembark, you can feel your nerves kicking your gut into submission.

There is still English written on signs, but only barely. Any large presence of English was replaced by Russian and unrecognizable symbols; proof of how far north, and how far from home, you are. There are no glaring hints that this was anything close to where you came from, and you are beginning to wonder if this was one of your better ideas.

There was absolutely nothing that reminded of you of home. Except for your luggage; your backpack slung across your back, your rolling bag still making its way from the bowels of the plane, and the clothes on your back, everything else was new, and different.

Again, it's always the most obvious things you notice at first. Then again, wouldn't you? You brain is trained from a young age to skip over the obvious, most common things and pick out the new and outstanding, the weird. Well, maybe 'weird' is a relative term. To you, weird would be considered everything you weren't used to and had never seen before. Which, aside from on television, had to be just about everything.

Some people lived for it, the weird and outstanding, and some people had no idea how to handle such a drastic change from the norm.

Like diving into the deep end of a pool when you only just learned how to swim. Or crashing an advanced science course when you only passed the introductory one. For some people it might have been too much, and certainly, not everyone would admit to secretly wanting to try such things.

And some people, like you, had no idea of what they wanted, simply wanting to try something new and exciting while they were young and still _could_.

Nevertheless, you were legally an adult now, and needed to act as such. You begged your family to let you do this, to let you try something that would teach you just as well as any semester in school could, to prove yourself as independent and grown up. And now it was time to prove that you could take the first step.

It was with trepidation and weak legs you walked out into the airport lobby looked around. It was much smaller – and shabbier, truth be told – than the first airport you saw earlier that day. That much was obvious, as the first one was the country's capitol airport; one of the busiest in the world. It was practically the central hub for aircraft in all of Asia.

And this, this single-runway airport in the far corner of the country, was not.

People milled around the area, some gathering their checked bags and wandering away towards their destination, some waiting by the baggage claim, their heads whipping around as they looked for whoever it was that was supposed to greet them.

Knowing someone was supposed to meet you by the gate, you joined the rest in looking around in hopes of finding some sort of clue – a recognizable face or something similar.

Finally, with a short exhale, you see a woman standing not far from you, holding up a simple sign.

 ** _Ruby Rose_**

Feeling your stomach somersault with what you knew to be relief, you step forward and address the older woman.

"H-hi. I'm Ruby Rose." You say softly, but loudly enough to be heard above the din of the other people.

She's wearing a heavy cream-colored jacket, unzipped, and a warm-looking cap covering her black hair. She could have been your mother's age, give or take a few years, and smiled down at you with a warm expression tugging at her lips. The woman's kind face makes you smile in return, and you straighten, already feeling a little better now that someone was there with you.

"Hello Ruby. It's nice to meet you. My name is Cindy." She says in slow, practiced English, holding out her hand for you to shake. You take it, and she smiles again. "Welcome to China."

"Thanks." You reply, the fact that you had actually arrived – that you actually _did it_ – settling in your heart, and you hold your hand to your breast, trying to clasp onto the feeling of accomplishment, for nothing but some semblance of luck. You have no way of knowing – truly knowing – if this was the best idea you could have had, or even a good idea. But you know in your heart that you will make the best of your six months here in another country.

This was the only chance you would ever get, after all.

"I'm glad to meet you, too."

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 **End of Prologue**

A/N: This is a story about something I have a lot of personal experience with. Travelling abroad for the first time, living in a new country and learning the culture and language, and firsthand understanding how difficult such a thing could be once you're there… and finally, the importance of having some sort of companionship with a fellow like-minded traveler. Or in this case, anyone who even SPEAKS your language and can understand your situation and feelings, regardless of their personality *cough cough*.

As I said before, many of you will probably be put off by the plot, or the writing style (I mean… 2nd person? Who _does_ that?), and I understand that. That's fine. I wanted a certain type of immersion with this fic and if I manage to interest at least once other person with this, then I will be happy.

This will likely go upwards of 80k words at its end. I hope to regularly update this, but might be pushed in line with my other long-term fics. It really depends on my time, and my muse and where it takes me.

Anyway, please Comment/Follow/Favorite!

 _***Will Work for Glomps***_


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: _Le gasp!_ I haven't abandoned this?! Hah – no. I haven't. I definitely have not.

I just want to point out something that will be a common occurrence in this story. Not many Chinese nationals (I.E. native Chinese that were born and raised in China) speak fluent English. Many, if not the majority of them, study it in school, but few have even a basic understanding of the language – Only a few assorted words, at best. It's essentially a worse circumstance of the US high school system's foreign language program; two plus years of Spanish, and you can barely ask where the restroom is.

That being said, aside from the very few competent or fluent English speakers in the story, most can and do make mistakes in their speech. Often. This will be reflected in their dialogue and is not a mistake in the writing process. Such typos and poor grammar are intentional. I hope it will not turn off any potential readers, and instead will serve as a method of immersion.

Enjoy what is to be a singularly unique Whiterose story.

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 **Lost in Translation**

 **Chapter 1**

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You were right. Or rather, the internet was right.

It is cold.

It is very cold.

The moment you step out of the airport into the afternoon sun you feel the air compress around you, stealing your breath from your lungs and replacing it with frost. You shiver, deeply thankful that you had enough foresight to pack your heaviest parka in your checked bag back home.

The temperature didn't seem nearly as bad from inside the airport, but clearly your idea of 'cold' is not up to standards. Not even the sun, which is blazing merrily above you like a cruel joke, doesn't seem to help. You clutch your jacket tighter around you and curse to yourself for not having a pair of gloves.

Seriously, who on _Earth_ would choose to live here?

When you had googled the city [Harbin, China] before you accepted your contract, you didn't really know what to expect. You had assumed to find old pictures of Chinese people riding around in rickshaws, fireworks and martial artists. You expected to see the Great Wall of China, maybe even the Terra Cotta Warriors or some cool temples. You had expected to see _something_ like that when researching the city you were thinking of moving to for six months.

But sub-zero temperatures? The world's largest festival of _ice_? A winter that lasts almost half a year? A huge influx of Russian population and architecture, integrating with the indigenous Chinese locals? Old, Catholic style churches as well as Buddhist temples? It was the strangest mix of culture and ideas that you had never seen before, and after the initial shock wore off, you hadn't been entirely sure about your idea to travel abroad anymore.

But, after giving it some thought, you decided that you could use a little strangeness. You could use a little culture and new ideas, and learn and grow from them. As your father always said, _'Life is an adventure; and you only get to live it once.'_

"It's cold, yes?"

You turn to regard the speaker. Cindy, the Chinese woman who had introduced herself to you in the airport and had been the person to collect you, smiles ruefully down at you, seemingly warm and toasty in her thick coat, wool cap and gloves. You eye the articles in envy for a moment, deciding to buy a pair for yourself sooner rather than later.

"Yea." You mutter, doing your best to reply while keeping your teeth from chattering. "Is it always this – _hah_ – cold?"

Cindy's laugh wasn't cruel, but you still feel like she finds you amusing. "It is October, Ruby."

Her English, you learned as the two of you talked while waiting for your bag, is not as good as you originally thought. She can manage basic concepts, such as introductions and simple conversations – the weather, hobbies and work, things like that – but anything more complicated than that is more challenging. You can understand that, as learning a different language is difficult for many people, and even two years of German in high school and some Japanese in college wasn't enough for you to even hold a conversation as well as Cindy does.

And she apparently had been learning English since she was in middle school…

"Y-you mean, it gets colder?" You stammer, blinking rapidly at the woman's simple answer. There was no way that could be possible…

She nods and smiles, her breath coming out in thin, wispy clouds. "Yes. It will get very cold next month. You can get some warmer clothes."

"Yea. No kidding." You agree, already thinking ahead to the next time you will be warm. Hopefully soon. You fidget, your hands already growing numb as you adjust your grip on your luggage.

Cindy notices your discomfort, and smiles again. "Let's go. My car is there." She points to a small silver coupe parked near the front of the airport and you gratefully follow her, hoping that the heating would be enough to chase away the brunt of the frostbite you were sure to be getting.

Cindy's car is nice, neat, and large enough to fit your luggage. You are slightly worried that your largest bag – a heavy thing you s _wear_ was lighter when you left the States – wouldn't fit. But with some effort and a mighty shove, you manage to slide the bag into Cindy's trunk. With a grateful smile directed at the older woman for her help, you climb in the passenger seat and she starts the engine.

"How far away are we going?" You ask, more to alleviate the awkward silence than any real curiosity. You are pretty good at directions and finding your way back home, but knew you had your work cut out for you in a completely new country.

"Mmm," Cindy hums aloud as she maneuvers the car from the parking lot and pays the toll at the gate, and then merges onto a freeway. "About forty-five minutes. Maybe."

You blink. "Maybe?"

Cindy shrugs lightly. "Well. Sometimes, there is accident on the road. That makes it difficult to drive."

"Ah." You say, understanding. That did make sense; ice on the road and stupid drivers and whatnot. You are a fair driver, but were also smart enough not to drive on icy roads. "Okay then. Can you tell me about your school?"

Cindy smiles, apparently pleased at the topic. "Of course! You know from email, the name of the school is Sunshine English. It is a language school that teaches English to students," She tapps her finger on her lip thoughtfully for a moment. "But, most of our students are children right now."

"How old are they?" You ask, legitimately curious. You got the gist of the school and your job as an ESL teacher – or an English as a Second Language – via email back in the States, but it was nice to get clarification from the source. And Cindy, as she had explained earlier, is the manager of the branch you will be working at.

"The youngest is four. She is a girl." She answers. "The oldest is seventeen. He is studying for the _Gāo Kǎo_ and wants extra English practice."

"The what?" You ask, unfamiliar with the words she used.

"The… ah…" Cindy pauses, apparently thinking of the English translation. "National University Entrance Exam. Everyone take the test when they finish High School."

"Oh!" You say, smiling. "Like the SATs."

"Something like that." Cindy agrees. You don't know if she is really all that familiar with the SATs, but accept her words regardless. "Anyway, we have three other foreign teachers at my branch, and classes every day except Monday and Tuesday. You will teach English class in the evening during the week, and all day on the weekends."

You nod, remembering that, as a language school, student attend classes _after_ their regular public school lessons in the evening and during the weekend. You remember thinking to yourself that there was no way in Hell you would have ever gone to more classes after a long day at school – let alone wasting your weekend learning another language – but then again… this was another country. They think about school and studying differently than you do.

Or so your dad says, anyway.

"Okay. I understand." You say, following along.

Cindy nods, smiling pleasantly. "Good. We have our own curr—," She halts on the difficult word, her lips working slowly, as if sounding it out. "Curriculum. So don't worry about that. You can change what you want to, but please tell me first so I know. But don't change too much."

"Of course not." You agree, more out of propriety than anything. You have no way of knowing how good of an actual teacher you are, but it was easy to know that it wouldn't be a good idea to change anything the school already had set up, like their lesson plans or anything like that.

"If you have any questions about the classes or material, you can ask anyone for help. The other foreign teachers will be happy to answer."

You lean forward and hold your hand up against the car's heater – it had finally started to warm up and you sighed happily as the feeling starts to come back to your fingers. "What can you tell me about the other teachers?"

"They are all very nice." Cindy says. "They are two girls and a boy; one of the girls has been here for a year, and the boy has been here for six months."

"What about the other girl?" You ask, curious.

"Oh. She is new, like you. She arrived last week, and has been getting used to things here. Actually," Cindy blinked, holding up her hand like she remembered something. "She is your roommate. So you will meet her soon."

You feel your lips curl into a grin, and you nod excitedly. "Oh! That's great!" You say, wondering what kind of person your roommate would be. Back home, you and your older sister shared a room. You got along well enough – for sisters, at any rate – but were always interested in having a roommate that wasn't related to you. You could imagine being friends with this person, and hanging out together on your days off watching cartoons or playing video games. "I'm really excited."

Cindy laughs at your admission, and shoots you a look. "That's good. I'm happy you are excited."

You grin, nodding, and the two of you fall into silence as Cindy turned her attention back to the road and passing cars.

Eventually, you notice the flat countryside that had been sliding by the window start to rise up from the ground in the form of buildings; short and squat homes and old, abandoned looking warehouses. You assume this is the poorer, less developed area that surround the larger cities, and you try to pick out any defining features that you can relate to. You aren't from a busy city yourself, you are from a small town just on the outskirts of a larger city, and can feel just a bit of familiarity with the smaller roads crisscrossing the highway and the random people milling about the side of the roads, dressed in warm-looking clothing.

Soon, the short, dilapidated homes of the villages surrounding the city shift into the city itself, and the difference in startling. Buildings shoot up from the ground, tall and pressed in close together, cars begin to file in beside and all around you, and the sheer amount of people that seem to spring up from nowhere astound you. You had seen pictures, of course, of the larger cities of Asia – Japan, Korea and China – and knew about how many people populated the cities here, but were wholly unprepared for the real thing.

Even as cold as the temperature was, there are still so many people! They move along the sidewalks, the crosswalks and even the roads themselves, maneuvering in between cars and motorbikes as if they did so every day, completely ignoring any possible danger. An older man jumps out from in front of a car and passes by the front of yours. Your car lurches to a stop as Cindy smoothly brakes, but you can't stifle the shocked gasp at the near miss.

"Wow – that was close!" You breathe, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Not really." Cindy says, shrugging. "This happens often. We are used to it."

You blink, shocked at the woman's words. "Really? That's so dangerous!"

Another shrug. "It is not as dangerous as other things. It happens all the time."

You exhale heavily in attempt to rid yourself of the pins and needles that came from the near collision with the pedestrian, and make a silent vow to yourself to always walk on the sidewalk and use the crosswalks when outside. You like the occasional risk – travelling abroad to China on your own notwithstanding – but walking in the middle of a busy street seemed almost too much like inviting danger into your bedroom.

As Cindy winds her way through the traffic with the practiced ease of someone behind the wheel for years, you watch the cars and pedestrians pass you by, taking in the sights. The cars were all generic, some brands you recognized, some you did not, with a surprisingly large amount of taxis and buses littering the road. You guess, what with that large amounts of people and only so much space on the streets, everyone owning a car would make it even more crowded.

The people that are making their way along the sides of the roads were even more crowded than the cars. A sea of black hair and warm-looking hats, dressed up in coats and jackets, each one going from place to place, occasionally jostling one another as they passed, the sheer amount of people even giving you a sense of claustrophobia even safely tucked away in Cindy's car.

And, perhaps unsurprisingly, there are only Chinese on the street. At least, as far as you can tell. There are only Asians as far as you can see, not one glimmer of yellow hair, or red or brown – except for yours, of course – and it really began to drive the point home that, _holy shit_ , you are actually here in China.

Not that the signs on the road are all in equally unrecognizable symbols helped to dissuade you of that fact at all.

Eventually, you feel the car pull over and slow to a stop and you blink, turning towards your companion.

"We arrived." She says simply, pulling her key from the ignition and smiling at you.

"Oh!" You say, leaving over and squinting through the frost covering the very top of the window to examine the tall building you parked in front of. Overall, it was nicer and cleaner than the other buildings you've seen, and that makes you feel just a little bit better. "It's a tall building."

Cindy laughs as she slips on her gloves over her hands. "Yes. The school is on floor twenty. Come on. I will show you."

The trip from the car to the building – and the elevator within – was short. You leave your luggage in Cindy's car at her request, because she would be taking you to your apartment after getting settled at the school and signing your six month contract, and you dart inside the heavy glass doors before the cold can get through your parka.

"I really need to get some gloves." You lament as Cindy guides you to the elevator. "And some earmuffs, too."

"Earmuffs?" Cindy echoes curiously, then her eyes light up. "Oh – _ěr zhào_! Yes, those are very useful. Also cheap. It is easy to get some."

You nod, making a note to go shopping first thing in the morning. You have some petty cash that you exchanged from US Dollars to Chinese currency – _Yuán_ , apparently – just for this purpose. "Sounds like a plan." You pause as you wait for the elevator, and then as the door opens and Cindy ushers you inside, you ask, "Do you know where the closest store is?"

"There are many small markets here. You can find gloves and _ěr zhào_ there. Someone at the school can help you find them."

"Okay." You say softly, watching the little numbers light up on the screen as the elevator climbed floor after floor. You slide your gaze over the dials, to the lightly embosomed _OTIS_ decal on the plate of the elevator, and then to the mirrored wall where, for the first time since using the toilet on the plane, you catch a glimpse of your face.

Above all, you look _tired_. That wasn't surprising in and of itself as you rarely slept well on a plane – even over a twelve-hour long flight from Los Angeles – but the bags under your silver-grey eyes left your usually clear completion a pale white. It was only the rosy tinge to your cheeks from the cold that gave you any semblance of color at all. Your shoulder-length hair was loose, streaks of bright red highlights left over from a recent dye job doing its best to peak out from the matted brown of your natural hair color. You aren't a tall girl – you know this – but you felt a little breath of amusement as you realize you are a little taller than Cindy is.

You knew that you would be taller than most Chinese and were prepared for it… but the fact of the matter is you feel a little relieved with the proof right there in front of you.

You brush away some invisible dust on your jacket and straighten it, trying your best to look presentable when she entered the school. She turned back towards the door once it opens with a _'ding'_ and, returning the reassuring smile Cindy sends at you, walk out of the elevator—

And walk right into someone else with a solid 't _hump'._

"Oof!"

"Aah!"

You haven't completely fallen down in a few years; the last time had been during an Parkour exhibition in your hometown, and while you did surprisingly well at first, it was only a matter of time before you ate it. You had vaulted over a waist-high pipe railing, but caught your foot just before you cleared the obstacle, sending you spinning head-over-heels forward to the cement. Luckily, you landed right on your ass, and only had the wind knocked out of you for a few moments. It was embarrassing, but you laughed off the misstep well enough to try again, and then again.

Between that, and bouts of street hockey and snowboarding, it was a wonder your friends considered you a 'girl' at all. Maybe it's your cute smile, or the fact that you have boobs.

You blame your sister for being a bad influence during your formative years.

All this flashes in your mind as you stumble over, throwing out your hands to keep yourself balanced and avoid falling on whoever you ran into just outside the elevator. It might have worked, if it isn't for the hand that shoots out to grab onto your wrist as you are trying to stay up. The small, but strong, hand snatches your wrist, tugging hard in a clear attempt to pull the owner back up. It doesn't work, and only causes you to finally lose your balance and fall to the ground.

"Ah! H-hey!" You hear, the sound clearly a mix of angry and indignant. "Get off of me this instant!"

You blink, dazed and confused, for a few moments before it registers to you that instead of landing face-first on the floor, you are lying on a body.

A female body.

A soft female body.

And your hand is cupping her breast.

 _Huh_ , you think absently, _so it doesn't only happen in anime._

"Gah!" You gasp, letting go of the girl and rolling to the side. You push yourself to your feet and cough nervously, eyes darting around to see if anyone had seen the spectacle. As it turns out, only a few people did. Cindy, her eyes wide, is watching with careful concern, but otherwise doesn't say anything. A pair of teenage boys are standing a few feet away, dressed in blue-and-white uniforms you just _know_ are school regulation, watching with amused grins. And finally the girl you ran into herself, propped up on her elbows, her eyes narrowed to slits as she glares up at you.

Uh oh.

"Um, sorry?" You hedge, inching forward to offer your hand to the girl.

There is silence for a moment as you hold your breath, watching the girl ignore her offered hand to climb to her feet. The first thing you notice is her hair – long, and pure white. You think it might be dyed, artificially colored or something, but wonder why she would even bother with such an outlandish color as white. Then again, you regularly dye your own hair red, so who are you to judge?

Her eyes are a startling shade of bright blue, and are set into her thin, pale face attractively, above a small nose and a pair of pink lips. Her clothes are nice; a white overcoat unbuttoned over a black turtleneck sweater. Her jeans are thick, probably warm, and her boots were both a dirty white and somehow still fashionable-looking.

You watch as she rises and stands to her full height – not all that much taller than you, oddly enough, but the effect is intimidating regardless – and settles into a dark glare.

"…sorry?" You say again, softly. "I, um, I didn't see you there. I'm, um, I'm Ruby. Ruby Rose."

There is silence for a long time as you fidget under her stare. Your tentative smile slow slips away, and you are left with a feeling of discomfort in its wake.

"Dolt." The girl finally mutters, shaking her head. And then, without saying anything further, she steps past you and enters the elevator. She sends a final glare your way, and then the doors close, leaving you with the final visage of anger and disgust she sent you.

"Um, wow." You murmur softly as Cinder sides up to you. "That was… yea."

"Are you alright?" She asks, worried. "That look like it hurt."

Shaking off the upset feeling that always seems to come with a bad first impression, you shrug and grin widely. "Pfft – that? That was nothing. I play hockey, and I snowboard; a little tumble like that isn't nearly enough to hurt. I'm more worried about that girl…"

Cindy half-turns forwards the elevator where the girl had disappeared into. She frowns thoughtfully, and then sighs, "Well, I'm sure she is okay." She says. "But, if you are really worried, then you can ask her later today."

You blink, confused. "Uh… by 'later' you mean…?"

At my tone, Cindy smiles ruefully. "By 'later' I mean, when you go home." I blink again, and her smile widens and you _swear_ even though she still looks apologetic and worried, she is enjoying this. "She is Weiss Schnee. Your roommate."

"Oh," You say, a feeling of dread welling up in your belly. Or maybe it's gas. You don't know, but you know that first impressions like that aren't easy to sweep under the rug. And if the two of you would be living together for the next six months… well, you have your work cut out for you.

"Groovy."

0 – 0 – 0

 **End of Chapter 1**

A/N: Woo! Some good world-building (though, I guess it's more of an initial impression of Chinese culture and facts that world-building…) and some insight to Ruby's character.

For all of those interested, any and all facts about China, the people living there (both native and foreign) and the cities themselves are completely factual. I should know- I lived there for 7 years between 2008 and 2015 in four different cities on other sides of the country. Good times, good times.

I say that but please, _please_ , don't take this work of fiction as a travel guide. Seriously. Not gonna have a good time. I shouldn't have to mention that this is for entertainment purposes only, and any and all mischief Ruby and Weiss get up to… I wouldn't really recommend.

Anyway.

Please Comment/Follow/Favorite!

 _***Will Work for Glomps***_


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